Misery Within All Misers
by whatthepenwills
Summary: [DeathNote Xover Killing Stalking] L tracks down a criminal who targets child abusers and molesters, and disables them for life through a lethal poison. Instead of greeting this psychotic vigilante with arrest and prison, he offers legitimate work under him as a crime fighter. Will she accept? [R&R!][CAUTION descriptive writing!][LxOC, MelloxOC, YoonBumxOCxSangwoo]
1. The Shadow of Death 1

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own any characters or copyright from the Death Note or Killing Stalking franchise. Please support the original creators however and wherever you can. The original story or plotline, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this fanfiction are purely fictitious. Any identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is not intended or purely coincidental._

 **Author's Note (A/N):** _"Killing Stalking" is a manhwa created by Koogi (Lezhin Comics) which entails highly psychological, violent and sexually explicit content. This crossover fanfiction is purely based on the psychological and dramatic criminal essence of the said manhwa, which goes really well with Death Note's own suspenseful tone. Please not there is also a lot of mind games undertone and implied and/or explicit contents of violent and sexual connotation (though I will tone down the intensity of its graphic nature) in this fiction. I do not condone to any type of violence or psychological torture. Other than that, sit back and enjoy this work of mine._

* * *

 **Misery Within All Misers  
** | _The Shadow of Death_ |  
Part One

 _Hyde Park, Central London  
_ _11_ _th_ _March 200*  
_ _Late afternoon_

"You only have _two_ options," the stranger spoke; his words direct and straight-laced, but the voice that carried them was hoarse and husky, hardly intending to be gentle or kind. Though they didn't even as much as glance at each other, Eleanor somehow felt that he was speaking to her and the dread of paranoia grew in her mind.

"Those two options," the man resumed, "will determine either your freedom or imprisonment."

 _Imprisonment_?

Eleanor tried to maintain composure, but sweats began trickling down her cheeks, bile was rising, heart thumping faster and harder against her ribcage, and it was near impossible to keep the same nonchalant look on her pale face. She had to resist the urge to flick her ginger fringe away from her eyes or even slap her hand across his face; instead, she just kept her deep hazel gaze right ahead, where her _quarry_ walked along the grass amongst plenty of school children. At that moment, she tried to think that making sure her quarry couldn't escape her wrath was all that truly mattered, all that needed her utmost attention and dedication.

Today was supposed to be the day she could finally feel relieved, the day when all the stress and tension from withholding a fury of violence and rage comes to a satisfying and fulfilling end.

Everything was prepared just for this day; she memorised each detail of her quarry's routine, from the time it would take for it to finish its favourite sandwich lunch at Marble Arch's _Pret A Manger_ to the time it would take for it to walk in its debonair stride to this park, where it would then spend the rest of its lunchtime _watching_ school children. It would bask in their presence, storing every distinguished detail of their person into its vile memory or maybe it'd come back to them for something more than just memories. All the things it _had_ already done and the things it would _plan_ to do will _and_ must stop today. _She_ was the one who was supposed to stop him.

She had waited nearly four months for this day to arrive, but then this wonderful day had to be ruined by this disturbing stranger seated next to her—on the _same_ bench as hers, of all the benches to choose from. Just what did he mean by _two options_ earlier? How could he be able to determine her freedom or _imprisonment_? Maybe the man was talking on his earphone or maybe he was mental and was talking to himself, and maybe he was just talking to her.

" _You only have two options. Those two options will determine either your freedom or_ imprisonment _."_

If she'd let her suspicions think about it, perhaps he _was_ indeed. His simple words – warnings and threats though they may be – managed to somehow ring her ears again and it didn't help her turbulent mind when he suddenly hummed to Beethoven's _Ode To Joy_. She pinched herself, biting her lip, and fought the increasingly snowballing need to take one tiny glimpse at him; rage and frustration were fused together, confusion growing a mile a second the longer she stayed there within this eerie silence. Eleanor didn't want to give herself away by jumping up and leave, not while this spot gave her the best view of her quarry as it stood out there in the open, vulnerable for her taking.

She was lucky that she remained steadfast and uninterested because the stranger was giving up on her, too. His humming abruptly stopped at the peak of the song and was replaced by a deep sigh; he was no doubt disappointed by her lack of reactions and that made her snicker quietly.

"I cannot say I completely disagree with what you've done so far," he spoke once more, but they were still looking at everything else other than each other. "But vengeance is not justice."

 _Vengeance?_ Eleanor frowned as she began to fume. She turned to get a good look at this bugger, trying to gauge just what kind of rude bastard he was and she was overwhelmed by surprise.

He looked taller than her – maybe more athletic than lanky – and looked her age, but had big creepy eyes that were as dark and mature as a starless night; sleeplessness in the form of swollen eye-bags haunted him and now decorated underneath his eyes. His raven hair looked like the mane of a rabid animal, especially as it was forced to mesh with a red cotton baseball cap marked with ' _Mind the Gap_ '—it still had a price tag attached, no doubt bought from a souvenir stall nearby. She recognised it being hung along the rails of several stalls and shops she'd walked by earlier. Perhaps he had been following her then?

With the way he messed up his khaki pants – one cuff a little higher up the knee while the other almost stepped on by the sole of his left shoe – and the untied shoelaces of his unspoiled white _Converse_ sneakers or _that_ horrible wrinkled grey _Rentokill_ uniform, he was possibly the most obvious character in the crowd and probably the least suspicious to be so intense and intriguing. This man could've well been just another worthless street bum, but he certainly didn't smell like one nor even spoke like them—in fact, he smelt like vanilla and strawberries, and spoke like an eloquent and educated gentleman.

Was all that get-up even _real_? These clothes, this appearance and figure was not his own; the only thing real of his was just his speech. What was the real reason behind this _look_? Oh, she knew the reason, alright. He made himself look this way so she wouldn't have seen him coming from a mile away. This man was no worthless street bum.

Eleanor felt a sudden purr in the beating of her heart and the whirring of her lungs. This thrill of danger from getting caught mimicked the same excitement of actually catching all her _preys_ , but this was somewhat different. This feeling was so otherworldly that it was numbing and blinding even, but if she wasn't extra careful, she'd be caught and all her quarries will have escaped justice.

"This is not justice," the man's voice scattered her nimble thoughts away as if he knew just how fragile they were. "Justice can only prevail if you do not intervene with it in this vengeful way."

 _Vengeful_. What did this man know about vengeance? The words he had thrown haphazardly at her may not be as harmless as the way he looked and dressed. They were _very_ intentional, as calculated and driven as they were true and meaningful. He had chosen them to deliver the best effect and derive the ultimate result; this stranger probably already knew everything there was to know about her and there was no use rebutting him. He may even know exactly what she was up to, enough to know which buttons to push, and she had so far been successful at holding back her response.

He was out _fishing_ her out. Just as she was hunting quarries, _she_ was _his_.

But even so, it didn't explain _why_ he had to come here to warn her and offering up a proposal such as those two options he mentioned, no matter what they were. So Eleanor looked around; Hyde Park was far too wide for sniper scouts, so that would mean there would be more boots on the ground. But there were no obvious signs of plain clothed police lurking or skulking around—she would've caught them talking to radios or had earpieces in their ears and whatnot. Not to mention, if he _did_ bring the police with him, then he wouldn't have let them heard what he said to her about his offer. Plus, the _things_ she'd committed so far wouldn't need so public and grandiose an arrest.

What could he have found out anyway? What would he know? He may've came up with an offer for her to consider, but he failed to mention something rather important: proof. Or evidence. Or testimony. Without those, his words were just mere alphabets and syllables strung together in a pretty tight bow.

So Eleanor chose to ignore him and the bubbling deep within the pit of her stomach; her eyes found comfort in following her quarry as _it_ walked past her with several children, carrying their football in its hand. The scene was somehow painfully quaint—what with the lax, carefree and lush green shrubs in the background. Foreigners took photo ops here and there whilst families roamed with cheers and roars of laughter, yet there lurked a malice so well disguised it stood up from the crowd like a needle in a haystack, but she had an eye for _needles_ —she always had. Everything today was absolutely perfect for a hunt, if not for her present company and the smile on her quarry's face.

She wondered why it was so hard at first to believe that a man like Mr _Ian Cole_ was her chosen quarry today. He was a 45 year old man with good looks, ordinary blonde curly locks and striking green eyes; he was married with one Mrs Jeanne Davis-Cole, his high school sweetheart and mother of his three children. He enjoyed studying and teaching science, so he became a biology teacher at an international school in Westminster. He could've been just another typical middle-aged father who taught at school or play football with his colleagues and friends on weekends if not for his impulsive desire to rape and molest children. He wouldn't have been able to function so aptly as a ' _normal_ ' man, husband, father or friend without these abnormal sets of paedophiliac routine that included such heinous abuse of trust and admiration. He had gotten away with it so far, too—well, at least he must've thought that way.

But even Eleanor had to admit he had an air about him, a kind of charisma that many would find attractive for someone his age; his manner of poise was suave and alluring, the kind that would make you forget your age and innocence. That was how he managed to lure them—boys or girls, middle or high school. He mostly preferred those who had their own cliques or groups because he told them ' _the more the merrier_ ' and he enjoyed the control he had over them, turning each individual weak to his demands despite their great number or close friendship together. He had ways to convince them to betray their own inhibitions, grooming them to his sexual fantasies so they grew willing and complacent to his manipulations until they were finally broken inside and out, losing all identity. That was how she knew about Mr Cole—one of the boys committed suicide two weeks ago. He was the _fifth_ child to do so.

No one would've known about Mr Cole and his gross past times if his victims hadn't been calling her up at the Psych Healthline where she volunteered as a counselor on call. That was how she always knew about these lying scumbags, all their secret inner workings and dark side before she'd later decide that they were her fateful _quarries_. Then she'd work on many plans for the best way to eliminate them. She wasn't paid to do this, to invest her time and energy like this—she never asked for anything in return. But no one else should ever die having been controlled and manipulated by this man. No one else should fear this man's influence and power. No one else should be raped or molested by him anymore nor even have fears for their dimmed future because of that.

Today everything that Mr Cole had been doing was going to end. Today, he was about to get an intrusive, shocking reality check.

Eleanor was going to stop him. She was going to ruin his life by destroying his future.

"I'm not oblivious to what he's done. I _know_ what he's done," the stranger spoke to her, again. This time though, his voice was stern and adamant; when she just gave him a sideways glance, he finally turned to her. "I will expose him. You can trust me, Ms Taylor-Soh."

Eleanor was repulsed. _Ms Taylor-Soh?_ No one ever knew that last name of hers—not in that form or sound, but this man did. How could he know this much about her? Perhaps someone sent him to find out what she had been doing, but who? Who would seek her out? Did her father sent him? Or maybe even her own mother? Maybe one of her other quarries actually remembered something that she missed, maybe her hypnosis failed or they may had broken through. Maybe this stranger can indeed expose Mr Cole as he would expose her, too.

"B-Bloody Hell," she murmured slowly as if she'd just learned how to speak; she purposely intended to sound confused and distraught, just to fool him before snorting into outbursts of laughter. "You're a funny fellow! Just who're you talking to?"

The man looked as cool as she was and that almost made her stumble. Undeterred and unabated, he simply shrugged at her; "Why," and ended up chuckling himself too, "I'm talking to _you_ , of course, Ms Eleanor Taylor-Soh! Or perhaps…"

Eleanor turned. What else was he going to say?

"Perhaps you prefer _Soh Eun-Seong_?"

"Golly, I don't know," her laughter slowed down though and she tried to ignore the growing flood of bile in her stomach. How many of her names did he know? How much of her past did he _really_ know? "Why would you think I'd know wh—"

"Or do you prefer that I called you… _Shadow of Death_ instead?"

She wasn't laughing anymore; it was as though she wasn't even laughing two seconds ago, or even thought of it. Her eyes were void of every other emotions except for rage, panic and fear, and she braved herself to return his own eager stare with a sharp glare.

"That's _not_ funny, whoever you think you are!" she growled low—in case any passerby could hear her, see her eyes almost feral or feel the fiery air oozing from her. "I really don't know what you're talking about!"

"Then why are you _whispering_?"

"Because I don't want everyone to think that a mad bugger like you had infected me!" she burst into another uncontrollable fit of giggles, covering up her concern on where this conversation was heading, and her gaze quickly found its way to her quarry once more. A gracious smile decked up her lips as she distracted herself, thinking merely on how horrible she would make him feel later, forgetting all about how uncomfortable this stranger was making her feel.

She was about to get up and leave, to trail down her quarry when something jumped on the bench she shared with this stranger. Her ears followed the sound of vibrating steel to her side and her eyes turned with her head only to find the stranger now crouching and facing straight at her—the edge of his cap nearly brushing her forehead. But Eleanor was too startled for a reaction. She chose to listen in.

"Ms Soh, I know what happened to all those girls and boys at Mr Cole's school, and even about the ones who have committed suicide. I can promise you that I will have him imprisoned… Isn't that what you wanted?" he sounded encouraging—if she let it influence her, she may've let him in.

Eleanor finally sensed the extent of the threat this man had brought with him; the purposeful ways he'd arranged his words so she could relate as easily and quickly as possible, and on some _normal_ reflex she would've responded in a heartbeat. She knew for sure now that this man was not playing around. She began biting her lips, again.

" _Imprisoned?_ " she tried to make it sound as casual as 'hello', "My word, who is this Mr Cole? And what did he do to deserve your wrath?"

"It really is up to you to decide your fate from here on out… by deciding on those two options I mentioned."

Eleanor paused. How did this man know? How could he have found out about her of all people?

She traced back her steps from the last six months. She had been making sure that all the calls she took at the Healthline were anonymous; she even got to know the people who lived in the neighbourhood of her quarries and learned their routines only so that it would fine tuned with hers, and she even double checked everything all over again with her chosen scapegoats. She had never known anyone who grew suspicious of her—even if she sensed it, she'd just hypnotised them and walked away forever. Not to mention, the name _Shadow of Death_ was used only whenever she was alone with her quarries and most of them were neurologically disabled by now.

If this man knew about her past somehow, there were only a handful few who knew—either it was her own father (who was also disabled by her), her mother (catatonic, nonetheless) and her paternal grandmother (the one who taught her hypnotism). However, none of these people had been in contact with her since she ran away—which was for over 5 years. So just how could this man have known everything at all?

Besides that, he kept throwing the threats of prison at her as if he knew the exact nature of her crimes. Furthermore, he did say she would either be free or imprisoned, _not_ executed. Eleanor widened her eyes at him, fully coming to terms to his _implied_ suggestions.

Slowly but surely, she turned to look at him properly once more—this time without any suspicious feeling of dislike or detest. There was a strange glow in his dark, almost black and empty eyes; the eagerness exuding from his mere stare told her he was indeed harmless—after all, he did warn her first before asking her to make a choice. So whatever terms he approached her with, it must've been on cordial terms.

"Ms Soh," he called out her from brooding and when their eyes locked, he prodded on, "Your father… he was your first victim, wasn't he? Did all of this happen because of what he'd done to you?"

Eleanor narrowed her eyes, nearly closing them.

Things flashed past her – things she had long forgotten and cast away – as if time rewinded back to that dark time in her past; she was forced to watch her parents perform sexual acts before she had enact the same whenever she was alone with her naked father. For a long time, he had managed to convince her that that was the perfect way to lead a peaceful and successful life, where she could have everything and anything that she wanted without anyone going against her wishes. Way back then, those gifts she'd receive made her feel better about the abuse, but over time she realised what a worthless and dependant whore she'd become—it was exactly what her father had wanted. Her mother was already helpless with him too and Eleanor had no one to turn to. That was why she ran away from home. Shortly after that, her mother was driven to a catatonic stupor and her grandmother found her, took her in to join a circus band.

Even if it had been _just_ 5 years, it felt as though it had been ages since she last saw them all. She grew up by herself believing she didn't need anyone to survive and that she had to live for her own sake now—since she failed to trust someone before, she no longer could trust anyone. Her heart grew cold and frozen, she no longer had the need to keep tabs with her family. She _flew off the nest_ and never looked back, thinking if she had it would only bring more misery. Even now, as she pondered upon it, it stung every pore on her skin, twist every fibre of her muscles and stretch every nerve in her body. There was a reason why she had run away and she must never forget that.

She stood up suddenly, startling the stranger. "You bugger!" she cried, voice shaky but it was hard to tell if she meant that. "I don't know who you are, mister! But you're absolutely mental! Stay away from me!"

The stranger watched as she started to walk away, trying to appraise that scoff of hers as something more sinister like even a snicker instead. He noticed how her eyes were focused only on Mr Cole and that she moved much faster when she saw him patting young children on their heads—it was very clear in her stride that she had no time to spare anyone.

" _Evidence_!" the stranger shouted back, just before she headed right for Mr Cole. "I _have_ evidence that will implicate you!"

That was enough to stop her at her tracks, but not her attention—she was about 10 feet away from the bench when she stopped. She refused to face him, debating whether she should listen to him or make a good example of Mr Cole. But who else would resume what she had been doing? Who else could? If she were to keep on doing what she had been doing, she had to be fully aware of everything in her surroundings—including this increasingly annoying stranger.

She turned around to find him smiling widely ear to ear.

"I forgot to mention the magic word it seems!" he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck.

Eleanor was still standing there, stunned. No one around seemed to be paying attention to what he yelled at her about, but just in case she waited for several of them to walk by and listened in to their conversations. When she was sure, she approached the bench but not taking a seat; it was a more powerful position to stare the stranger down.

"What evidence are you talking about?" she asked, almost uninterested and in disbelief. She always planned her huntings with intricate and meticulous detail—this sounded implausible.

The man smiled once more and something about what lurked behind it gave her chills; "If I'd told you, I won't have anything to bargain with," and he pointed to the empty slot next to him, which she declined with pure mistrust and raging intent. "Don't worry… I'm not a cop, you know!"

"That doesn't answer my question nor ease me."

"Well, will you tell me what will ease you, then?"

Eleanor thought about what was the most cryptic thing to say—not only that, she wanted to see how much he thought he knew about her. "I think you know," she retorted; her hazel eyes gleamed sure and with zeal, something she sensed he detected as he kept his gaze and nodded to himself.

"You can choose to finish what you came here to do, but bare in mind, I have evidence."

"You've been going on and on about this evidence of yours… but what are you talking about exactly? What is it that you know that I don't?"

He seemed to have caught on. "Oh, did you think I don't know your story? Or what happened to you for the past 5 years?" he chuckled lightly, seemingly too familiar and friendly for comfort. "I have been keeping tabs on you longer than I would most criminals."

 _Criminals_? Eleanor raised an eyebrow, which he saw, and it only entertained him even more.

"You see, I have always had a keen eye on people like you… but you were one of the most elusive—dare I say, as elusive as I am! But besides that, I needed to painstakingly understand why you did what you did and in turn I have gathered as much conclusions and evidence on you as I can. The evidence I have confirms most of my suspicions—granted, I've a few questions left unanswered, which was why I had to come and see you for myself," he explained.

As she surmised his words completely, she averted his gaze and wound up looking to the ground and chewing on her lips. If he knew her _real_ name and _that_ name, or the fact that she had been missing for _5 years_ , he must've really known everything there was to know about her.

"Ms Soh, will you hear my proposal now?"

Eleanor fought the urge to scram. She needed to hear what he could offer her, what he knew and whatever that evidence was. If she had left without knowing, without studying this man and his words, then she would have to look over her shoulder every single time—she may no longer be able to ' _hunt_ ' anymore, too.

She raised her head, taking several steps forward. "What exactly _can_ you offer?" she shrugged, "What could you possibly want from me that I most certainly have?"

"You have great talent and potential. I hate to see it wasted just hunting _scums of the earth_ like this."

This man knew about Mr Cole's misdeeds and trespasses? It sounded like he was teasing her and she sensed something similar to herself in the way he spoke and acted. She almost couldn't believe the likeness, but he continued.

"I heard that you have a knack for hypnotism and… your grandmother was a fortune-teller, wasn't she? She was the one who taught you mentalism, but you had better use for it than conning righteous people off their hard earned money. Besides that, you have read up on psychology many times—I know you've checked out more books on psychology than students who study it on their first semester. You've learned plenty, judging from how guarded and walled up you are—I try to think it's because of your past and history, but I think this shell of yours is harder to break because you finally understood why it existed…"

"Are you sure you're not talking about yourself?" Eleanor threw the question wondering if he could understand her implication. She wanted to see if he saw that they were similar.

The man pouted. "I _know_ how similar we are, if that's what you're implying."

"So what's your point then?"

"My point is…" the man pulled out his hand; two fingers were pointed out and the rest clenched as he went on, "I'd like to propose two options: one, you can choose to proceed with what you've planned to do today and only be arrested with the evidence that I have, which will implicate you on _all_ your crimes… or two: you can stop now and _join_ me."

"In your merry band of men, _Robin Hood_?"

"Do you think you're a criminal?"

This was his retort to her question on their similarity and that name she just called him with—she sensed that before it was too late.

She quietly pondered on their conviction—what was their differences there? This man may have been seeking out criminals to deliver his own brand of justice, but she exacted her vengeance for those who cannot seek out justice for themselves. Was that so different? To Eleanor, it didn't matter how justice was carried out as long as it had been and that was her motivation all this time. Pursuing her quarries had been an intoxicating journey, but it was well worth it—to see them cower in pain, tremble in fear and beg for forgiveness and mercy. _That_ was always going to be the best way to ensure justice will prevail.

But if she considered herself a vigilante and this man admitted their similarity, then they were cut from the same cloth—no matter what colour that cloth was dyed.

"Do you consider yourself a vigilante?" she threw it back at him.

"Yes _and_ no," he raised his hands before she could scold him for cheating, "Allow me to explain myself, please!"

"As long as you'll return the same favour."

"I consider myself an extendable hand of justice—you and I are very much alike in that sense. You only acted outside the system of order that society had provided while I acted within it where it lacks an eye—"

"—for details that which you most certainly have?"

"Something like that, yes," the man nodded repeatedly. "I see past whatever that has slipped through the cracks within the system."

Eleanor snorted, "So if I had slipped through those cracks, why are you now asking me to join you?"

"They say like-minded minds work best together. We both have the same mindset, same outlook and brand of justice… To be honest, I wanted to use your talent and potential in a better way, a way where you won't end up in prison."

If her ears could twitch and prick up like those of an eager wolf, this would have been the time; she couldn't believe the prospect he was offering that he had to nod at her, almost as if her thoughts were so transparent to him because they were just like his. He really was offering her a job—a job where not only he could keep tabs on her, but allowing her to take down these scumbags in permissible but less vengeful ways.

"Are you really—"

"I'm positive."

"I don't even know who you are! H-how do I know you're for real?"

"My name is L," he sheepishly spoke up. "You may not have heard of me, but I have repeatedly worked with the FBI and many other investigations throughout the years…. More recently, I was the one who solved the LA murders."

"Is that the one with the drugged victims?"

He looked surprised. "How did you catch on?"

"I think you know," she replied with creased eyebrows—he _should_ know that. When he mumbled something about the Psych Heathline in Chiswick, she nodded. "Some of the psychiatrists there are actually painfully aware of crimes everywhere in the world—I think one of them had a brother who was a copper."

"I see… News travels however it can, I suppose."

"Look L, I'd really like to trust you. But you haven't offered me something I don't already know or do… and I like being my own boss! Aside from that, the first option was for me to go to jail once you've submitted your evidence—how do I know this evidence will in fact imprison me? You're not doing yourself a good job at convincing me, if that's what you're here for!"

"Ah, I see your conundrum. True, like you, I keep my identity a great secret so there is no telling whether I am telling the truth for you."

Eleanor nodded again, more vigorously this time. "Exactly! I'm so glad you understand that."

"Still," L stood up now; he was hunched over slightly and his knees bending forward as though his spine was broken or too heavy to carry. He placed his hands into his pants' pockets, thinking. "At this point, I can only assure you with my words and my words are gold. And I do have solid evidence to use against you. Or are you not convinced that I know everything about you?"

She paused—quite frankly, most of the facts of her past (that he had so far revealed to know) could be used as circumstantial evidence and he was being very vague about this _evidence_. Or could this meant he only had _that_ much evidence?

"If your evidence is so solid, Mr L, then why didn't you just tell the coppers on me?"

"I don't like to repeat myself: I've already told you—it's because you have talent and potential. I'd like to see you harness them in a good way."

"So you don't want me to go to jail?"

"Yes, I do prefer that you don't go to jail. There are better things to do than going to jail just because you decided to poison and hypnotise some child molesters and paedophiles… Although, if you ask me, _eight_ is a considerable number of victims and the FBI still finds interest in these cases—particularly because of its varying victimology."

Eleanor wanted to snort at that. _Varying victimology_ —what a fancy term! Sure, not all the molesters she hunted were males, but she had a way of choosing them in the first place; even now as she reminisced, that one female bugger was the most frustrating of them all—justifying her actions the whole time. But as Eleanor realised his mistake of the number of preys she had hunted by far, she made a quick brooding of what he meant.

" _Seven_ ," she corrected him anyway, smirking. "And no, I'm not being reckless or cocky—unless you're not actually going to arrest me because you have no power to. Then again, I sense you're here on personal interest and gain. Therefore, there aren't any coppers around, right?"

L didn't look troubled. In fact, he stared straight at her all the time it was mildly on the offensive. " _Eight_ ," he corrected her, too. "Unless you're answering me on the positive."

"What is this? Have you been looking forward to arrest me? Shouldn't this go beyond your principle, to suggest that I pursue another?"

"I prefer not to. I just don't think you will give me a quick, positive answer now… You're going to refuse and you're going to resume hunting down Mr Cole and punish him anyhow."

"I have no comment."

"For your own sake," he acknowledged.

"And you're right, I am refusing your offer. It seems too hard to believe and too high a risk to take."

L looked away, thoughtful for a moment as he began nibbling on his thumb. "Will you," his tone was slow and quiet, "perhaps sleep on it?"

"How long do you intend to give me? Did you always think I'd reject first hand?" she asked, curious.

"I knew there was a more likely chance that you would refuse me instantly, so I'll let you think about it and about your _eighth_ hunt. But anyways, my offer stands until midnight tonight."

Eleanor's smile was a smug one, but she raised an eyebrow, suspicious of him again. " _Midnight_?"

"Yes," L mumbled as he pulled down his cap and straightened up his uniform, not forgetting to readjust his khaki pants; "If you're interested in joining my _Merry Men_ ," and he chuckled at that, "please go to the address at E1 8JG and I will be waiting for you to give me your answer there. If you do not show up, I _will_ hand over the evidence to the authorities. At this stage, I can only hope that you'll make the right choice, Ms Soh."

She waited when he paused mid-way to turn towards the other side of the park, leaving her.

"I bid you… _good luck_."

As Eleanor watched his back slowly receding into a flurry of tourists crowd, she couldn't believe what just happened.

She still considered the likelihood of his truth being real; how he knew things about her that other people shouldn't know or that he had evidence on her which was more than circumstantial and was not hesitating to use, but yet he showed up here to offer her such a deal. Was he genuine? Did he really just offered her to join him? Did he really want to see her talent and potential to her avoid prison?

What was with that good luck wish, too? Did he know she was going to study him, checking out whether his facts and fiction was the real deal? Did he know she was going to reject him because she had waited so long to punish Mr Cole that she wasn't going to miss it?

" _I_ know _how similar we are."_

He knew.

He always knew she will reject him because he understood her, that her planning would've all gone to waste if she had agreed to an option then and there, and that Mr Cole would rape or molest another child today if she hadn't kept to her plan. That was why he came to warn her—it was like telling her not to screw up or get caught by anyone else but him. Even then, by asking her to choose, he wanted her to volunteer for a chosen choice. He knew she would still go for the hunt because that was exactly what he would've done for himself. He always knew because of that.

And now he must've already know what her answer was going to be.

Eleanor smiled to herself. "No one's ever gotten this right about me before," she giggled, body shivering in excitement. "And I'm not about to let this go to waste, too!"

Right up on the opposite side where L headed, Mr Cole was standing by the gate; he was waiting on the children as they followed him and they weren't the only ones who did—a smiling _black widow_ was tagging along and keeping a close eye on where they were heading.

That black widow was Eleanor Taylor-Soh.

* * *

 **A/N:** _There. It was a long intro, but I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!_

 _Please leave a review! :)_

 _Also, I'd like you to know that there is a lot of mind games hinted out to you readers, too. So the question for your guys in this chapter is: Is Eleanor crazy? What sort of indication gives it away—is it the fact that she referred to her preys as 'it'?_

 _Alright then, see you next time!_


	2. The Shadow of Death 2

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own any characters or copyright from the Death Note or Killing Stalking franchise. Please support the original creators however and wherever you can. The original story or plotline, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this fanfiction are purely fictitious. Any identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is not intended or purely coincidental._

 **Author's Note (A/N):** _"Killing Stalking" is a manhwa created by Koogi (Lezhin Comics) which entails highly psychological, violent and sexually explicit content. This crossover fanfiction is purely based on the psychological and dramatic criminal essence of the said manhwa, which goes really well with Death Note's own suspenseful tone. Please not there is also a lot of mind games undertone and implied and/or explicit contents of violent and sexual connotation (though I will tone down the intensity of its graphic nature) in this fiction. I do not condone to any type of violence or psychological torture. Other than that, sit back and enjoy this work of mine._

* * *

 **Misery Within All Misers  
** | _The Shadow of Death_ |  
Part Two

Eleanor dragged her striking cinnamon coloured Chelsea boots all over the dark hardwood floor as though the flat was her very own. The sounds of creaking wood trailed her footsteps like breadcrumbs in the form of morning dew, dissipating into the air as fickle as breaths. There was a small, steady fire crackling up the chopped wood and heat flowed up to her knee level, nice and slow, but it was so humid here she was beginning to grow sleepy. Whilst walking to and fro the hallway, occasionally gazing up at the random art pieces on the walls, her hazel eyes landed on every framed photos lining up on the mantel of the vintage Victorian fireplace in the living room. Several of the photos consisted of an old lady and her husband, but the rest were photos of a mysterious young woman—she looked just like Eleanor. If not for those bright and clear cerulean eyes, the woman could've even passed off as her—or vice versa.

Eleanor felt pride swelling up within her as she thought of the marvel that was her plan. She slumped herself onto the padded bench affixed to its walls of the bay windows, easing her tired body into the obvious comfort of the small but homely flat. She got her unkempt ginger hair out of its emerald green beanie, but refused to take off her beige woolen coat from her droopy shoulders—even if it was already warm enough for the coolness of spring. As the kitchen was slowly buzzing with sounds, she turned and stared ahead into the streets below this 3 story flat and observing the occasional tides of men and women and children. She was careful to make sure the white sheers covered her line of sight, so no one could be sure if they were being watched and would only instead feel intense anxiety.

But someone like her would always be looking back down, always hidden the shadows of darkness itself to snatch preys unawares.

Her sips of air was deep each time she breathed in and sighed, making sure they had a tinge of sweetness to them. It smelt like maple syrup—an incredibly light, but strong and sweet smell. Sweet like mornings where pancakes laid toasting on the pan and butter was melting on top of them; as light as waking up knowing the rest of the day was going to be absolutely perfect. She smiled to herself, keeping her eyes narrow, and watched as Mrs Clayton stood there in the kitchen—mindless, but awake.

"Have you added your _secret_ ingredient,nana?" she asked the old lady.

The independent 75 year old looked to her meekly, still dazed. "I like maple syrup in my cupcakes," her voice was a little wavering, her body trembling and head nodding incessantly—much like a nervous child. "You know how I make my cupcakes! They have to have a texture like pancakes, so it makes my breakfasts a whole lot easier for me! I call them _pancake cupcakes_!"

"I'm sure you do!"

"Do you think… _he_ would like it?"

"What young man wouldn't? You've seen him had cupcakes before, haven't you? I'm sure he'll have one at least."

"Good! I've been pouring maple syrup in all of them! They're going to be very sweet!"

Eleanor eyed the bottle of antifreeze next to the milk bottle that Mrs Clayton had taken out for the batter and the smile on her face grew so wide it felt as if it was going to crack her skin open.

Old women seemed to be a harsh mark for a scapegoat, but those like Judith Clayton were always secretly eager to be part of a greater cause. They may not openly volunteer to it, but they would jump in a heartbeat to disprove the great reputation of any suspicious character that was their neighbour, and Mrs Clayton's neighbour across the street was none other than Mr Cole himself. Mrs Clayton had a thing against young men who lived alone—it was a thing of her husband endeared within her mind long after his death. She simply disliked the idea that these young men would leave in the morning, stopped by in the afternoon, and return in the night only to leave again some time after. Not to mention, she always had suspicion on him because he never brought anyone else home, but he would bring children in groups of threes or fives. Even the children themselves would very often looked suspicious; for whenever they arrive, they looked cheerful and excited, but they leave wary and frightful. Something within her mind was already been made up about Mr Cole and it was easy for Eleanor to draw it out.

Even so, Mrs Clayton wasn't even the actual scapegoat—it was her young caretaker sent by a rundown senior welfare centre. Her name was Amy Jones, 25 years old single mother of three toddlers; she had had multiple failed and abusive relationships, and suffered from severe bouts of bipolar and depression. Outside office hours, she had cocktail mixes of several antipsychotic drugs as well those of the recreational nature (specifically cocaine, which she would obtain from any one of her deadbeat boyfriends and/or ex-boyfriends); she would normally take them right before heading out to work or to see Mrs Clayton. Of course, no old lady as her would know the difference between when Ms Jones was sober or high, and even if the Welfare Centre knew about it, they never cared to do anything significant enough about it. So this was simply the gross negligence on their part, allowing Mrs Clayton to be exposed to antifreeze so easily like this.

Eleanor found this discrepancy too upsetting to dismiss. Here was an old woman who suffered from dementia and Alzheimer's. She was without any children or family members to care for her, solely relying on the centre for help and support. And yet where indeed was Ms Jones? Probably smoking marijuana with her new mechanic boyfriend, forgetting completely that today was the day that she should be visiting Mrs Clayton.

This was shameful. This was horrible. No elder should suffer alone like this.

And now, not only will the wrongs that Mr Cole had committed to the youths will be punished, but so will the wrongs against the elderly.

"It's almost ready!" Mrs Clayton's sing-song voice pulled Eleanor away from her deep reverie.

She excitedly stood up and walked into the kitchen, watching Mrs Clayton took the cupcakes out from the oven. "It looks perfect!" Eleanor kept that smile on her face, "You're still as good as ever at this, nana!"

"Oh, _Christine_ , you pamper me!"

"Come on, nana! You're good at these things! I could never have been better than you!"

"Don't say that! I loved your pumpkin pie!"

Eleanor stopped there. She didn't have to be so thorough on the old lady's illusion that she was her granddaughter—an _adoptive_ one, no less. She didn't want to make Mrs Clayton's too confused once the hypnosis was over.

"Has he arrived yet, darling?"

She raised her eyes to meet those of the old lady's, noting its dilated pupils. "I haven't seen him going in," she muttered, "or out."

"He usually comes around at this hour. I'm sure he's already in!"

"I saw some children left the house, though."

"Oh," Mrs Clayton looked upset and down. "How'd they looked?"

" _Unharmed_ ," Eleanor nodded, "at least for now."

"Good! That's good! That's _very_ good!"

"Nana, do you think he's—"

"No, no, Christine! Don't go there! It's not a place you could handle!"

Eleanor smiled, but it was filled with sorrow. " _Nana_ ," she stressed every syllable of her words, "I can handle it. I've seen it all it now. I know it all."

Mrs Clayton stopped removing the cupcakes from their moulds; her body shaken and grey eyes watery.

"I know, dearie. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, nana. I tried to fulfill my dreams. I'm happy I went out that way. I hope one day you'll understand how that feels."

"You… You always know what to say," the old lady wiped her tears away, smiling again.

"Alright, then. Let's forget about all that! Are you ready to ask this Mr Brooks for some apologies now?"

"I am ready when you are!"

"Good!" Eleanor smiled as she put her beanie back on and checked her coat pocket for _that_ package she had kept hidden.

As she watched Mrs Clayton make quick decorations on the _pancake cupcakes_ with a smile on her face, she too was smiling. It wasn't just about the old lady's infectious cheerful attitude, but it was the fact that her task at hand was nearing its finale. It was daunting and terrifying, but the thrill rising from this hunt sent her head pounding—euphoric even.

By the time they headed out into the narrow street, strong winds were howling down and so no one was walking out at this time; Mrs Clayton wore a mere cardigan for this small outing, thinking she was going to be quick, but her dreary bones almost couldn't handle the cold blasts of wind as she crossed the street. They even had to endure the cold for several more seconds at the rigid black doors marked with the gold-plated number 116 after they rang the doorbell and the elderly lady turned bluer than usual. Eleanor was well prepared for her ventures, even as much as wearing a pair of small knitted gloves, which she had freshly bought at a Prishot shop in London—she even asked several people to try it out before she bought them.

Before Eleanor could do anything about that though, the door was opened and the two of them were met with wide, inquisitive green eyes.

"Mrs Clayton?" he spoke, voice dreary and deep.

"Well, hello there, Mr Brooks!" the old lady shook his hands a tad bit too vigorous for him to handle. "I do hope you don't mind my casual drop by!"

"No, not at all! Is there a problem? Anything I could help you with?" at this point, he sounded as though he was in a rush, but curiosity got the better of him as he turned to Eleanor. "And who is this?"

"Oh, my word! Where are my manners? Mr Brooks, this is my granddaughter, Christine! She's come visiting!"

Eleanor took out her hand and reached out to him; "Hello, Mr Brooks," she smiled as she looked in him the eye, "I'm sorry to barge in so suddenly like this! My nana is always so intrusive sometimes!"

"Oh, you cheeky lass!" the old lady gave her a soft shove on the shoulders.

"Hello," he took her hand in his and shook it. "I'm John Brooks."

She noted his tone positively. "My nana has been telling me that she was quite lonely recently, but yet she complains about having dishy neighbours! I can see why now she was so lonely!"

"Oh, please!" Mr Brooks - or as per his _real_ name, Mr Cole - laughed; he didn't mean to, but he intermittently pushed his door open a little as he did. "If there's anyone so dishy, it's those the gay couples in the corner and that group of French students next door!"

"Well, I would feel at home either way!"

The more he laughed, the more he opened the door.

"Anyways," Mrs Clayton cut in this time, "We just came to drop by a bag of cupcakes I popped in the oven!"

"Not just that, nana," Eleanor snapped.

"Oh, yes! I'm getting on with it!"

Mr Cole looked a bit puzzled, but comfortable; it was the casual way the conversation carried on that left him inconspicuous and _open_ to attacks.

"I would like to apologise for lashing out on you about your car the other day!" Mrs Clayton admitted in one full breath.

"My nana told me that she was quite angry with you the other day when she had her groceries sent over and the delivery van was blocked by your car. I do apologise," Eleanor slowed down and came forward, whispering. "She has Alzheimer's, you see, and she gets very uncontrollable sometimes."

A flash of sympathy briefly glistened in his eyes; "Oh," he mumbled, "It's no trouble, Mrs Clayton. It wasn't your fault!"

"Well, you're still very new in the neighbourhood and you don't know about me and all!" the poor old lady defended herself with a blush on her cheeks.

"I tell you what… Let's have a cup of tea with these cupcakes. Please come in," Mr Cole finally opened the door as widely as to fit them and allowed them to pass through.

"Oh, thank you!"

As Mrs Clayton walked in, Eleanor turned to Mr Cole; "Are you sure you don't mind?" she asked and waited.

"No, of course not! Please do come in!"

That smile on her face was no longer polite—it was sly and cunning. "Nana," she called on the old lady to turn around as they stood in the foyer, waiting for Mr Cole to shut the door behind them. "Do you remember that thing I asked you to do for me?"

"Of course!" Mrs Clayton laughed and raised her hand that was holding a paper bag filled with cupcakes and waved it in Mr Cole's face when he turned around.

The man could barely reply when Eleanor smacked him right in middle of his forehead; "Listen," her voice was clear and loud, "Hear only my voice and my voice alone. My voice is the only thing that matters as you delve deeper into the water that is relaxation. You slip right through the surface, slowly falling and dropping, and falling till you feel relaxed and numb of all other trivial things…"

Mr Cole froze; the pupils in his green eyes were dilated.

"That's it, good. Now from hereon out, you will not refuse an old lady's request. In fact, since you're such an honest and kind man to let us into your humble abode, you will do absolutely everything Mrs Clayton asks you to do because you don't want to upset her. You will do whatever it takes to prove yourself to her, to please her and gain her approval. You don't want her to be suspicious of your actions because she reminds you of your mother, who suffers from the same illness as Mrs Clayton. So you must tell her the truth, no matter how horrible, or she will know when you're lying, and you wouldn't like that."

The man never responded, dazed.

"And now… _wake_ ," she tapped his forehead once more.

Mr Cole startled. "Mrs Clayton," he addressed the old lady with a nod, grabbing the paper bag full of cupcakes, and then turned to Eleanor, "Well, I'll get the kettle running!"

"Please," her smile got creepier, but none of them would know.

As Mrs Clayton settled down on one of the grey-coloured furniture in the seating area of Mr Cole's home, commenting on the bare minimum living standards that was as masculine as it was evident, Eleanor kept her sharp eyes on him. He was busy in the open plan kitchen, preparing the drinks and setting up the cupcakes onto a plate; he responded quite well to Mrs Clayton's almost nagging conversations, so she hung back and sat beside the old lady. All she needed to do then was prompt her into discussing her own suspicions of him—it would in turn prompt him into confession.

"When should he start eating, darling?" Mrs Clayton asked.

Eleanor wished she could slap herself—how could she have forgotten about that? She had hypnotised the old lady into not only believing that she was her dead adoptive granddaughter, but also that the woman had emerged from the ' _other side_ ' to help her in her social life. Therefore the old lady – as was her personality and astute – aimed to be absolutely perfect in her prim and proper agendas. Christine, the granddaughter, used to always helped her with that.

"That's up to you, nana," Eleanor smiled at her. "Let him have a good taste and then make sure he can speak to you so you could actually have a conversation with him."

"Alright, good idea!"

"Okay, ladies," Mr Cole cut in as he brought a tray with three cups of tea and a plate full of cupcakes; he placed all of it on the table within reach of his guests before he sat down across them. "These look absolutely delicious!"

"Do you like cupcakes, Mr Brooks?"

"Oh, I do love them! And actually, my name is Ian Cole…"

Mrs Clayton paused. "Then why did you tell me your name was Mr Brooks?"

"I didn't want anyone to know I lived here. I'm married, you see… and my wife doesn't know about this place."

" _Married_? A wife? Do you have children, Mr Cole?"

"Yes, I do. I have two—a boy and a girl!"

"You're one of the lucky ones!"

Mr Cole didn't look convincing. "No," he sighed, "I am not lucky… In fact, my children are the very reason why I'm here."

"Why are you here? What do you mean?"

At that moment, it was almost as though Eleanor's presence was completely forgotten; the hypnotised two paid zero attention to her and now her face was full of smug and scorn.

"I don't want to harm my children," was he managed to sheepishly mumble.

" _Harm_ them? Harm them how?" Mrs Clayton turned to Eleanor and she simply nodded; the old lady continued, "Mr Cole… Why do you say that? Does this have anything to do with those other children you've invited here?"

"Yes, I have been molesting them."

Mrs Clayton gasped. " _Molesting_ them?"

"Yes, I have an urge I can't refuse. I've had them since my father died… and I would always see my mother have _relations_ with other man. She would scold me, but then I've always liked to see her. As a child, I've always enjoyed playing with younger children but I never touched them back then… until I became a school teacher and ever since I had my own children—I just began molesting boys and raping girls! I even told them that I loved them more than anyone would but… I can't simply touch or _harm_ my children that way… so I take other people's children instead!"

" _How_ … Why would you do such a thing?"

Eleanor leaned into the old lady's ears and whispered, "Whenever you feel like it, make sure when you ask him to eat, let him eat _all._ "

"I don't know!" Mr Cole cried, "I wish I did! I couldn't stop!"

"You don't have anyone to support you, do you? This is an ailment of the mind," Mrs Clayton suddenly slowed down; she leaned forward and reached out for the plate of cupcakes, tilting it a bit. "Please, have a cupcake."

Mr Cole obeyed and finished the first cupcake without even flinching.

Eleanor saw this chance to brew her _special_ tea. "Nana," she turned to the old lady beside her and handed the package in her pocket. "How about _that_ tea?"

"Oh, right. I think he'll need something stronger… May I make some of my _special_ tea in your kitchen?"

Mr Cole mumbled a 'hmm'.

"Have more cupcakes, darling. Christine and I already had some; I made them all for you."

Again, Mr Cole obeyed— _three_ cupcakes were finished once Mrs Clayton returned from the kitchen.

"Here you go," she handed the cup to Mr Cole, "This is the tea I drink whenever I feel so tense and alone. It'll make you feel better."

Mr Cole looked at the tea cup for a while.

"Please, finish these cupcakes."

He followed her suggestions, finishing up all the cupcakes, and drank the tea.

"You know," Mrs Clayton sat down finally and sighed, "I actually suspected something ominous and suspicious was going on about you and your place ever since you've arrived…"

Mr Cole began to tremble suddenly.

"I always thought you had something going on here. I just never expected… I didn't want to think it, but it crossed my mind. No, I didn't want to believe it _could_ be real."

"I-I'm swolly," his words had began to slur and as he began to fall over the couch, he convulsed. "Sworry! Sowwy! Sowwy!"

Eleanor tried to soak in as much pride, delight and satisfaction from this small victory; here she was, the avenger of the unavenged, and she didn't as much as flick a violent finger at him. It was all thanks to Mrs Clayton's secret desire to expose whatever it was that he had been hiding and her true, curious nature was unleashed—so much so that he was giving her conscious confession and she lent a conscious ear.

"Oh, quit your crying! It was just tea and cupcakes!" Mrs Clayton looked to Eleanor and creased her eyebrows angrily. "Look at'im! He's screaming like an incorrigible child! Asking for mercy!"

Eleanor had a smirk on her face. "Well, it's time!"

"Time to head back?"

"Yes, you shouldn't stay here any longer," she whispered to the old lady as she tapped her shoulder, "Listen carefully, _Judith_. You need to go home and stay put until your phone rings. When it rings, you will call the Emergency Services and order a van here. You will explain to them everything that's happened—from today being the anniversary of your granddaughter's death to the point that you mistook antifreeze left by your caretaker as syrup. They will understand your predicament and your troubles—none of this was your fault at all!

"It was the fault of the people who had been leaving you behind to rot, the fault of those who has taken too lightly of your matters. You will right this wrong and you will try to undo the mistake of others, maybe for the last time. Until then, wake only when you hear the phone call. For now, walk home and stay indoors."

Mrs Clayton nodded and walked straight out the door.

As Mr Cole now rolled on the floor, Eleanor titled her head to the side.

"There is beauty in death for those who deserve it," she smiled even wider now, but it was hard to tell if Mr Cole even got that; in fact, as she stood there watching, he suddenly started to crawl his way around and muttering something incomprehensible, slurs of words that even babies wouldn't babble out. Fear was written all over his face as he tried to chase Mrs Clayton down, still screaming those half-worded ' _sorries'_. "You look so pathetic right now, trying to earn her favour like that and just because you have mommy issues," she followed him and placed the edge of her shoes on his forehead.

His consciousness slipped away, leaving his body in violent tremors.

"You have just witnessed an old lady's rambling of a depressing day," she muttered, "and now you will stay perfectly still. You will wait _patiently_ for others to come rescue you as all your victims had waited for you to stop raping and molesting them. You will accept this fate. You will accept the illusion that was your control and you will lose it all. _Wake_."

As soon as she nudged him again, he closed his eyes; tears rained down his cheeks, his mouth was gaping and his throat gagging. There was a strange melody in the way his chest constricted. Eleanor stepped away, waiting, until he suddenly started flailing his arms around and crawled here there—several decorations fell on the floor and rolled beside him, but he didn't react to it. He just kept moving his arms about as if he was fighting something. The _nightshade tea_ effects took quicker than she thought it would, but she simply shrugged, noting it was more important that someone else heard his confession.

"Goodbye, Mr Cole… Now you are consumed by the shadow of death, where you can no longer hurt anyone," and just like that, Eleanor slipped out of the flat.

# # # # #

By nightfall, it had nearly been 8 hours since the _events_ that took place at Mr Cole's hidden _lair_ and there was still time before midnight, before the hand struck on the face of the clock resting topmost on the turret of Sugar House, Leman Street. Eleanor originally planned to have someone call Mrs Clayton's home the next morning and wake her from the hypnosis, rendering Mr Cole's suffering to a total of 14 hours; but since she had already added powdered antifreeze with the nightshade tea, she had someone call Mrs Clayton an hour ago. By now, Mrs Clayton would have called the police and the ambulance, and Mr Cole would have been taken out from his home—possibly right at the moment he entered Stage 2 of the poisonous ingestion.

She wanted him to try and feel death, but just thinking that he would be found drowning in vomit and smelling like a rotten pig was enough still. Mrs Clayton would be very confused as to what happened, but none of the authorities would care as to know why since she had dementia _and_ Alzheimer's—so in their minds, she was bound to be confused most of the time. She would tell them about seeing her dead granddaughter or about being aware that it was all a large part of her grieving imagination. In fact, they may began to pity her.

They might think she called them for help because of what she found out on Mr Cole and that confession she heard would then implicate Mr Cole – should he survived his predicament with little neurological failure – in child rape and abuse. They may never know why she made him cupcakes, but that she may have mistaken the bottle of antifreeze as maple syrup. Not to mention, the police will have tracked down the receipt for the poisonous material, which would then led them to Mrs Jones, the _careless_ caretaker. She and her boyfriend (who asked her to buy it for him) would be taken in for questioning, probably charged with negligent manslaughter and her toddlers would be taken by her childless aunt who would've made a better mother.

By this time next year, Eleanor would look back and still not regret anything she'd done today. Everyone would have their own piece of heaven and hell, and all the balance shall fall back into place. But by this time next year, would she still be free? Would she be in prison instead?

Ever since she arrived in this area of Shoreditch, she had walked past many drycleaners, corner shops, cafés and bars, tracking the map towards the postcode left behind by L. She finally came to an intersection below the tube rail line and there, beneath a row of pillars and foundations, she paused.

Her eyes watching eagerly from across the road and she sighed, smiling in jest and sneer. There, way ahead of her, was a red bricked building where shops squished between each other; one single place had black painted walls, windows dressed with the logo—a silhouette of man in a coat and hat, a murderer who once roamed along the same paths as she did when she walked here, leaving trails of mutilated bodies and slit throats. She used to join one of the tours that traced back his footsteps in the dark of the night, getting the goers into the thrill of the hunt and the scare of the prey. So it was no wonder she thought the address was familiar—it was Jack the Ripper museum.

Eleanor made sure she hid perfectly behind the pillar that no one could see her there, inspecting the place from afar. From this distance, she could make out a figure standing in a stunted pose; he was L, tall, skinny and his dark hair still messy and almost unrecognisable from when she last saw him in Hyde Park earlier in the day. This time, he was wearing a trench coat over – one of those beige, waterproof ones that detectives on the tele would wear to emulate Sherlock Holmes – and he had that _deerstalker_ cap with a smoking pipe. Contrary to his previous appearance, he looked very conspicuous. She wondered if it was on purpose.

Then, there was _that_ strange black car. Glossy and spotless, it was a 1970s Rolls Royce with a really unique Winchester plate numbers. It kept driving around the area and L never missed turning to have a glance at it. It _was_ his car.

After about three times it had went around the same curb, a taller old man came out from the passenger seat and spoke to L; he dressed in a dark three-piece suit, looking all prim and proper with his round glasses and Bowler hat. L didn't look too pleased to see him there. In fact, immediately after the man tried to convince L of something (frequently pointing out at the car and time on his watch), the car came around and the old man went back inside. It never came around, again.

Eleanor took a deep breath. The clock had struck quarter to midnight now. Critical.

Why did L made it seem so obvious he was waiting for her? What was the intention – and by God, maybe even symbolism – behind that get-up? If it was a message for her, it was not one she'd received completely. Was it a warning? Still, why doit in so much exposure like this? And what was the significance of the Jack the Ripper museum? As Eleanor delved deeper and deeper into this issue, she remembered what he said to her at the park, about those two options – her imprisonment or freedom – and then there was that thing he said about justice, and about joining his gang. He said he _knew_ what she would be thinking.

Was this all so that she could feel safe? So that she could trust him?

Eleanor was unsure. She fiddled with the buttons of her coat, eyebrows creasing.

But then again, he _must_ have really known that. He must've known she'd watch him first, scout the area and when she saw that black car, he must've been angry at the fact of it obviously circling the area again and again. He must've known she'd know. He was being honest when he said he wanted her to avoid prison. After all, he did say she wouldn't be able to ' _hunt_ ' in a prison now, would she? It must be why he encouraged her to join him.

Eleanor sighed.

The hour and minute hand had converged together over the number 12.

It was midnight. Some clocks were chiming in the distance, some were signified merely by the sound of merry laughter of drunken patrons.

L stood there, patiently in the quiet. He could sense the black car coming around again, but when he turned, it wasn't the car that caught his attention first.

It was the lady across the street.

Eleanor Taylor-Soh, also known as Soh Eun-Seong, the _Shadow of Death_.

* * *

 **(A/N** **):** _Hey guys! I know I took a while with this one! 10 days from my last chapter! Sorry about that! I may look into posting a chapter either every week or fortnightly! School has been really tough on me lately._ _Also, I posted this at like 2am so I will need to re-edit a bit._

 _Please note all the things that Eleanor did was still a crime. It doesn't mean that what she did is okay. Also please let me know what you think and leave a line of REVIEW! THANK YOU_

 _Next up: L's reasoning behind picking Eleanor up as his side-kick! Or is it a side-kick job? What if she was a fall guy? :)_


	3. The Shadow of Death 3

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own any characters or copyright from the Death Note or Killing Stalking franchise. Please support the original creators however and wherever you can. The original story or plotline, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this fanfiction are purely fictitious. Any identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is not intended or purely coincidental._

 **Author's Note (A/N):** _"Killing Stalking" is a manhwa created by Koogi (Lezhin Comics) which entails highly psychological, violent and sexually explicit content. This crossover fanfiction is purely based on the psychological and dramatic criminal essence of the said manhwa, which goes really well with Death Note's own suspenseful tone. Please not there is also a lot of mind games undertone and implied and/or explicit contents of violent and sexual connotation (though I will tone down the intensity of its graphic nature) in this fiction. I do not condone to any type of violence or psychological torture. Other than that, sit back and enjoy this work of mine._

 **Misery Within All Misers**

 _The Shadow of Death_

Part Three

"Come on in… I've actually booked the museum for the whole night."

The moment she looked up to him, he walked on straight ahead into the museum as if he knew she would follow him without the slightest hesitation—even if in retrospect he did think she looked rather unwilling and confused as to why he chose Jack the Ripper's museum as a meeting place. But he ignored it, thinking she would know better than to question his conviction and thoughts, especially as he never did question hers.

But Eleanor did hesitate to follow him; she thought she may've read too much into everything, that the reason why the museum was chosen was so that she could dread the idea of getting caught and that thinking he would imprison her was the only fear that should exist in her mind. Or perhaps since Jack the Ripper escaped prosecution, maybe by sending her into the museum he was actually insulting her intelligence. She pursed her lips, clearing her throat as she did, and made sure to open the door wide—just in case she might be jumped by a squad of armed police waiting to arrest her inside. But as she entered the building, L was there all alone, standing still in the middle of the foyer without that silly trench coat on, and watched her eagerly. She had never before felt so challenged by anyone that it was almost revolting.

"You've been here before," he commented.

She wondered what gave her away and chose not to lie. "Sometime ago, yes," she nodded; her eyes wandered to the walls in the narrow hallway and she decided not to removed her coat. "These pictures and scenarios are still horrifyingly real to me today."

"You were interested to see how he prevailed to escape prosecution."

"I was, but then I figured he must've died of some natural causes because no man so cruel and selfish could ever live without killing more prostitutes the way he did."

"I agree," L, with his subtle lean, began to look at each of the framed photos there; they were Victorian newspaper clippings and portrayals of what happened that autumn in 1888.

"Besides that, there was the controversy surrounding the establishment of this museum itself," Eleanor prodded on.

"Ah, yes, with it being too misogynist."

"Do you think that?"

"What about what you think?" L was walking away now, entering the room ahead.

Eleanor knew exactly where that door leads into; it was a room that recreated the discovery of Catherine Eddowes' murdered body at London's Mitre Square. When she was last here, she spent several minutes studying at the whole scene. There were two wax figures used, the one lying on the floor was the victim while the other one standing was of Constable Watkins, the policeman who found her mutilated body. The museum even changed the details of the interior walls so it would resemble the buildings during the Victorian era and visitors would feel as though they were transported back in time. But when she walked in after L, she was surprised to see the gruesome details they've added. There were blood splatter stains and pools, the clothes on Ms Eddowes' wax figure was torn and ripped, and the odour within the room was suddenly akin to that of a dead animal. L crouched next to the so-called dead body, eyes examining it as if he could bring it to life by merely looking at it. When he reached out for the pool of blood that collected beneath the body and as he tested the stickiness by rubbing the tips of his fingers together, she sighed.

"Did you arrange for this?" She asked sharply, somewhat offended.

L whipped his head up. "Why would you think that?"

"That's corn syrup, isn't it? And that stench… what is it—a dead rat or bird?"

He didn't speak. His black eyes twinkled a childish wonder and his lips perked up in a humorous 'v' shaped that Eleanor was caught off her guard.

"You're not actually trying to scare me, are you?" she continued, hands in her coat pocket and eyes looking away in awkwardness. "Because this is the worst attempt I'd ever seen."

"This isn't corn syrup," he commented.

"From a blood bank? Really? Did you have to go that far?"

"And that dead animal is not a rat or a bird. It's a rabbit."

"It doesn't make me feel any better at all."

"Good," he stood up now, patting his jeans and wiped his fingers clean as he did. "I didn't do this so you'd feel good about it."

"Did you think me inhuman? I'd feel bad over a dead body, you know. I would've never seen them as an object."

"I had to be sure," he was chuckling as he walked past her.

Eleanor was stunned, but she followed him as he headed upstairs. She thought he had to see if she was a violent psychopath by adding these little details, but he had some other ulterior motives as well. "You did this so I could get used to crime scenes?" She asked again.

"Maybe."

"I've seen dead bodies before, you know."

He stopped mid-way on the staircase and turned. "Have you now? How?"

"Suicides."

"Ah, yes."

"I've seen several. Some by hanging, others by pills… but most of them jumped off…"

"It must be hard for you to get to know the children only to be unable to help them," L resumed going up again and she followed.

Her hand clenched tight against the wooden banister. "No, it wasn't easy…"

"And Mr Ian Cole… how is he, I wonder?"

"Probably at the hospital by now. Mrs Clayton will've already told police about what he confessed to."

"That was a nice touch, by the way."

"What, involving a third party?"

"Yes," his voice wavered as he turned a corner. The second floor housed Jack the Ripper's presumed study as he contemplated on the murder, but this was only a mere speculation, so L skipped that floor and went a further two floors up. "I think that part of your plan really helped me understand you more… I know it was necessary for you to let everyone know that your victims are not as good as they seemed. The message was loud and clear, and I received it."

Eleanor felt herself blushing; it had been a while since her cheeks turned red and warm—the last time it happened she was 15 and a boy had complimented her hazel eyes. It was strange, but it felt as if her mind felt good about how someone like L viewed her, as if it was as good a compliment on how she looked.

"You never finished giving me your thoughts."

She startled, looking up to find him waiting for her answer at the end of the staircase. "Oh, about the museum, you mean?"

"Yes," he paused at first. "What were you thinking?"

"N-nothing… Anyway," she tucked her hair behind her ears, sheepish and she knew he noticed. "I don't think it's too misogynistic. Ignorant maybe, but not as misogynistic as the feminist community might think."

"The male community thinks that there were no signs of sexual violence depicted in these murders. But do you think the feminist community was right in thinking that there was sexual nature to the crimes?"

"I think you know of it better than I do. But just because there wasn't any sexual abuse on the body itself - no signs of rape, sodomy or penetration of any kind - it doesn't mean there exist no sexual tension within the killer himself."

"And?"

"By mutilating a particular part of their bodies and targeting women of this occupation, the tension was intense."

L nodded. "I agree. Most murderers who target high risk victims like this do have an inert sexual tension within them. The murders themselves are often putting on airs in public, so not only do they have sexual tension, but they also already have social tension."

"Do you think me unprepared?"

"No, but I do sometimes think you're overqualified," there was a tone of seriousness in his voice; in fact, there were subtle changes to his whole demeanour. He stood firmly and straight, his eyes narrow and sure as he spoke again, "You're not a murderer, but I think the fact that you refused murder whilst being as overly complicated a psychopath, you're too big for the job."

"But you require my insight no less."

"It's the only reason why I needed it."

"L," Eleanor approached him at the edge of the next set of stairs. "Before I commit myself to anything, I think I deserve to ask of you one thing."

"Oh," he cooed, "Interesting. I do wonder what indeed is your question, but are you sure you really want to ask me?"

"Most definitely, don't you think?"

"I know what you'd like to ask, what you'd like to know and even what you'd think of it…"

"And you don't feel I should ask you?"

L was silent.

"I only needed to know for a good reason," she looked down, but she could still feel him looking at her. "I need to know so I could avoid making the same mistakes in the future, especially if I should start working with you."

"Are you seriously considering it?"

Eleanor didn't take another second longer to nod. "Of course, I am—why'd you think I won't?"

"I'm not doubting you already, but… Alright, I'll listen to your question and answer it if I see fit."

"If I see fit, he says," she murmured, taking in his words with a bitter aftertaste and ignoring that irritated look in his eyes—he didn't like her poking fun at his speech. "Well, for starters, I'd like to how you've found out about my favourite pastime—poisoning guilty people, that is."

"Ah, of course you do. Even I'd like to find out how anyone could've found out about me, especially if they actually could."

She waited silently for his answer.

"There were several things that caught my eye in your cases."

"There were indeed?"

"Are you that surprised?" L scoffed, "The FBI couldn't see past your intended sporadic patterns, but I was able to narrow down several commonalities."

"Several?"

"Oh, yes. All 4 of them to be exact."

Eleanor gulped, almost regretting her curiosity.

"The first was time. It took you several months to track down your victims and to get to know their routines. However, there was a substantial amount of time span increment between your first few victims. For example, the time you took between your father's poisoning and your second victim, Mr Jackson Poole, was over 5 years. The third victim, Mr Finnegan McKinley, took you 3 months to prepare; Mr Eric Richardson took you 4 months. Thereon after, you've pretty much stabilised the time you require for observations and planning to up to 6 months with the rest of your other victims.

"The second commonality was the victims themselves. Each and everyone of them seemed beyond the pale from everyone else, but on closer inspection, I could see why they were chosen—all of them were child abusers and molesters," L paused to look up to her; Eleanor was no longer panicking, but she looked very amused. "I uncovered all their dirty little secrets when I compared them from all the rest of the deaths-by-poison victims that were found around at the same time. It was then I realised that your victims were picked out because of these vile acts they committed behind closed doors. Even the FBI themselves had initially considered it a case of vigilantes."

"Hah, they thought there were several of me?"

"Well, I certainly don't blame them! It did appear that way, what with the random pattern and repetitive change of locations."

Eleanor watched as L moved from one end of the room to another; the fourth floor was a sample apartment room of Victorian London's poverty stricken areas, which presumably would've been where Jack the Ripper's victims lived. L was busy admiring the details on the faces of the Ripper's victims as their rare photos were framed and hung over a shabby bed.

She felt a sudden chill and tried shrugging it off, "Ah, at least I'm glad to know my efforts to trick the authority actually worked!"

"The third commonality was the method of poisoning," L suddenly spoke up, eyes still capturing the intricate details of the photos; he looked so eager and determined that Eleanor stayed quite just watching him. "Even if the dosage of poison varies over all the victims, they were ultimately poisoned by anti-freeze. There were also different types of herbal poisons used adjacent to it—most probably to heighten the effects of anti-freeze, but I realised only later that the usage of these herbs was meant to daze and confuse the victims. There were no intentions whatsoever to kill the victims, but the dosage were just enough to physically maim them all for life. Besides that, all the victims were successfully rescued by police and emergency services within 12 hours of poisoning, which was another sign of your truest intention: revenge."

"And what was your preliminary profile on me based on the poisoning?"

"My preliminary profile of you, aka The Vengeful Poisoner as the FBI have dubbed you, was that you were a victim of abuse yourself, which doesn't negate the fact that you are a vigilante seeking out justice for what was done to you. It was also how I figured out that your father was your first victim; I found out he had a daughter who ran away and I knew then exactly why you had to've ran away. The next thing I had to do was tying you to the rest of the victims that came afterward."

The odd goosebumps she felt earlier was just a memory now as her lips slanted into a confident smirk, intrigued more than ever. "How did you manage that indeed?"

"It wasn't easy, but finding you was hard at first. Then I had to think of how being a victim makes you relatable to the victims of all the abusers. So I checked and realised that somehow or rather, you always had connections to the victims of your victims, which was apt of you because then you would have access to most intimate details of your own victims.

"You always joined any mental health institute in order to save the victims of your victims because you know they need as much support as they can get. You understood their situation better than anyone else so of course, by getting in touch with them, you also got in touch with their assailants. But at the same time, I notice that this would only increase your need for vengeance. Because of the time span between your poisonings, I find it hard to believe at first that you intended to keep pursuit of your revenge, but I realised it was a flaw of your personality. I find as if by communicating with their victims, you had a fail-safe that will always seek out these child abusers."

"Well done, L," she clapped her hands in a pretended fashion, but yet the smile on her face was genuine. "I can see why the rumours say you're the best detective around."

L fell silent suddenly. "I wasn't finished, you know… I did say there were 4 commonalities."

"I never said you were finished."

"Then hold off your praises for one more."

"Alright," her laugh was half hearted.

"The last commonality was," L turned and began walking out and about the staircase again; his interval was due to his piqued interest on the worn out part of the walls. "Hypnosis."

"Ah, yes, the better part of it all."

"I tracked you down as the daughter of Mr Matthew Taylor as this was requested of your neighbour next door, a Mrs—"

"Wollerby. That nosy old woman!"

"Yes, her. She said that there was an incident right before you left which rendered your mother catatonic. She was a fast talker and she knew perhaps too much, but I do remember she mentioned something about your grandmother—Agatha Taylor. She's a well known circus act, a fortune teller who could read into minds and the future. In other words, she was a mentalist and apparently, Mrs Wollerby thought she might've been the one who rendered your mother the way that she was. And according to Mrs Wollerby, your grandmother came over to take you away, only to find out that you've already ran off.

"Mrs Wollerby believed that your grandmother never liked your mother and that when you ran off, your grandmother had pursued you. So I tracked Mrs Agatha Taylor and true enough, she did find you and took you in as her apprentice. In fact, I couldn't believe it at first, so I actually went to one of her shows right before you left."

Eleanor stopped in her tracks. L was still ways ahead of her, in the hallway down the second floor staircase when his dark, bulging eyes focused back to her with a knowing look. It was when he then raised his left hand to his right eye and saluted her with a 'peace-sign' that she remembered someone strangely familiar from long ago.

"Ryu… Ryuuzaki? That was you, wasn't it?"

"Oh, my," though he spoke sheepishly, there was hardly any reactions - obvious or inconspicous - on his face. "What gave me away?"

"Funny, that was the same question on my mind… Are you sure you're not the mentalist here?" As she chuckled, she caught him rolling his eyes—he didn't fancy the term.

"Your grandmother was my inital suspect over your father's poisoning—the initial thought was that she had a matriarch mindset. Her hypnosis skills was sub-par of any parlour tricks, but your eyes were keener and your mind sharper. You also had somewhat of a better conscience, deciding to utilise your talents for something more useful to you than ripping good people off their money. So you decided to use it to hunt down other people like your father. But you knew if you hunted the abusers and molesters straight on, you won't be able to take them down on your own, so you needed to form a thorough plan accordingly. But I suppose, you wound up mingling with their victims because you needed to know their pain in order to exact vengeance. I notice this has massive significance to you… because while all of what they've done were equally heinous, you've adjusted the dosage of poison accordingly," L stopped to turn and face her once more.

Eleanor stared back, her eyebrows raised. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Have I indeed?"

"Never mind all the dandy details of how I came to be! It doesn't explain how you found out that I was, in fact, the Shadow of Death. Who told you that?"

"Why, your victims, of course!"

"None of them could speak as well as they should."

"Rightly so. But there was one curious thing that they fear in their minds: the Shadow of Death and that was the fourth commonality. That was indeed your name under the hypnosis."

Eleanor nodded. "Yes, how did you find out about that? I know I've told them never to say anything about me, but then, they can't even speak coherently. So…"

"You made them fear it… the Shadow of Death. It was the only thing in their minds. They sketched it. They mumbled it. They couldn't even bear the thought of it, fainting at times just thinking it."

"But how could that've led you to me? It could've been a mere figment of their imagination."

"You're right, it could. But then, the specificity of it all puzzles me—why the Shadow of Death, not Death itself?"

Eleanor smirked. "Yes, why indeed?"

"So I knew it must've been something that was planted in their head. Then I remembered how your grandmother hypnotised a woman into shaming herself by admitting her affair in front of her husband and the crowd… It strikes a familiarity too obvious to ignore."

"So you immediately suspected me?"

"Not immediately, no. There were plenty of suspects, but you were the only one who was aware of the vile transgressions of your colourful victims and the only one who knew hypnotism well enough to do this much mental damage. Then everything simply falls perfectly into place—your father being your first victim, your taking the time to get to know the victims and therein the connections you made with their victims, and your usage of anti-freeze. It was a perfect fit."

Eleanor smiled, speechless. She didn't know how to say what she wanted to say, but it seemed L knew.

"You're not the only one," he began explaining. He took a step forward till they were just an arm's length away from each other. "I have been looking for plenty others just like you… I needed to find them all, you see."

She nodded. "I see. So like I who interact with my victims, you need to interact with those who are like minded."

"It's not just that—you'll see what I mean later on. But right now, I'll tell you this: I've gathered so many enemies to date and someone needs to be there to take my place should anything happens to me. I couldn't bear to think of all the chaos that would be unleashed should there be no one there to watch out for the darkest side of crimes, or for justice. I think the moment I'd find the most challenging adversary, I'd probably die discovering them."

"You underestimate yourself."

L didn't reply. Instead, he turned and pointed his head towards the floor below, and just like a loyal disciple of Jesus, she followed him downstairs without question. She had so many things she would like to ask and to know of L, but for now, her admiration for him grew hundred-fold and that was the only thing she wanted to know: who was he? What was he like? What was his favourite colour, food or drink? Despite his funny appearance, he was a magnificent man underneath. Eleanor could tell from just looking—his mind exuded an overwhelming presence.

L arrived to the ground floor before she did and from the top of the stairs, she could see him standing there and talking to someone. She contemplated rushing down towards the exit, but L looked the same as before when he looked her in the eye. In fact, he smiled. She couldn't think of it as something threatening like an ambush for her. Taking slow and calm breaths, she finally reached the end of the stairs and found the old man she saw earlier standing next to L.

"Eleanor, this is my caretaker, Walter Wammy Wiggins," L greeted her, pointing out to the old man, who was now removing his hat.

She held out her hand and Walter shook it with his. "Pleased to meet you, Mr Wiggins," she nodded.

"Please, just call me Walter... or Watari," the old man chuckled.

"Watari? Does L have many businesses in Asian countries?"

"Well, he is part Japanese."

"Interesting. I'm part Japanese myself."

"I know," Walter laughed this time. "It was I who helped him look into your background! I am L's proxy wherever and whenever he works with local policing authorities, so I know all of his cases!"

"When you said caretaker, did you mean—"

"He's not related to me," L answered, looking at her as though she was out of line before avoiding eye contact. "He adopted me at a young age... as he did with many others."

She bit her lips having noticed that angry tone in his voice. "I'm sorry," she looked down, "This must be a personal and troubled subject for you."

"It's not wrong to ask," Walter retorted, turning to L with a raised eyebrow.

"Not yet," was all L said.

Walter scoffed at that. "Young master L is always shy and timid—so I always encourage him to do something bold in social situations such as this. But sometimes it doesn't work as well as it should."

Eleanor wanted to laugh, but when she caught L rolling his eyes and left them there, she knew there were limits and boundaries to his social interactions that she had yet to learn. So like a scolded little girl, she kept her head down.

"Don't mind him," Walter sighed as he put his hat back on. "Sometimes he thinks being bold in social settings is too much of a bother!"

"He shifts gears really unexpectedly fast!" she agreed.

"Ho, but at least you noticed! Imagine all the others who've failed! Poor souls!"

Two stark knocks on the museum's front door startled them both. Walter proceeded to open it for Eleanor and they both joined L where the Rolls Royce from before had parked outside. The old man went straight ahead into the driver's seat and started the engine, saying something about the cold weather. Meanwhile, Eleanor avoided looking at L all the time until he suddenly grabbed her by the wrist with only his thumb and fore finger.

"It's not that I don't like you to be my friend," he whispered, "But it's just that you're moving a tad bit too fast for me to feel comfortable if you're asking personal questions about me through my close acquaintances."

"I know!" she was blushing as she laughed aloud, "I'm sorry, I got too excited."

"No, it's good that you are! It's just that I don't want you to get carried away."

"I understand and I won't from now on, I promise."

"Good," he finally let go of her wrist and instead opened up the door for her. "Well, this will then mark the start of our partnership, Eleanor."

She smiled, ducking her head as she went inside the car but he didn't join her. Instead, the screen scrolled down and he lowered his head to the same level of the car as he was peeking into it.

"I do apologise but Walter will guide you from now on," he explained. "I have work to do with a friend at Scotland Yard and I promised we would meet here as well. There is plenty of work to do before I would see you again, Eleanor, but know that I am very happy you've made the right decision to join me. I will make sure your stay with us will be a satisfying one."

"You make your Merry Men sound like a hotel."

"Well, you're not an orphan..."

"No, but I would like it if you'd consider me one."

L fell silent for a small moment. "Then indeed, you are one of us."

Eleanor said nothing and flashed a big smile, one that made L jump. He wasn't expecting a smile as genuine as that when he had been grinding her so harshly with threats and warnings. And considering what he was about to make her do, he felt a pang of guilt. As he pulled away, the goodbye wave he gave her was sheepish and unsure.

"Farewell, friend. I'll see you again soon," he mumbled.

The car drove off as soon as he finished speaking and Eleanor couldn't say much about it. She figured if the car had a Winchester plate number, then it would take them at least 2 hours drive towards there. So she stretched out her legs and leaned forward to flex her muscles; but while she did so, Walter laughed suddenly.

"You can have a lie down if you like," he said with leftover residues of laughter in his tone. "Or you can stay awake and ask me questions about L."

"No, I think those questions are meant to be discovered by myself without getting the answers through anyone but L himself."

"Oh, they're going to love you!"

"Who are you talking about?"

"Why, the children of course!"

"Children?" Eleanor remembered L mentioned others before—what did he really mean by that? Were there more children that Walter had adopted besides L?

"Think of it this way," Walter stopped at a red light and turned his head with a smile. "Instead of Robin Hood, the more correct symbolic representation of L is Peter Pan and instead of a band of Merry Men, what he has built at the moment is a bunch of Lost Boys! And you're the Wendy he has kidnapped to help shape them!"

She gasped, her fists balled tightly on her knees.

So the job L really meant for her was babysitting?

He had tricked her into believing it was going to be about chasing criminals, but it was more about training would-be Ls into good shape before she could get the bigger fish of a job. This was also why he had to pick someone as demented as him to train them all. But this was probably to test her, also. Well, at least she had discovered what and how much he knew about her, and there was no doubt that she couldn't run away from this Fate, having volunteered for freedom rather than going to prison.

"I promise you'll like it," Walter smiled as he continued to drive again. "It's not just about the children, I mean. But L will open up once he trusts you enough or once you'll do a good job with the children. He'll let you off on his crime hunting and fighting too, I'm sure of it! If not, I'll keep on pestering him for an assistant as I always have!"

A sigh escaped her lips as she kneaded her temple.

"That sly bastard!" was all she mumbled about as the long car ride resumed.

And so, Eleanor was no longer the Shadow of Death. She may've stopped hunting for her quarries, but she was about to teach others how to do what she did for the fallen and abused children she had encountered. It may take a while until she could fully let them work it all out, but she truly looked forward to working with L soon.

And even though he did trick her, Eleanor still smiled about it and still felt feverish from the way he countered everything single thing she did.

So her journey towards a new life begins, a life to build a better world in its shadows.

 **(A/N):** _Hey guys! Sorry_ _for the late update! I have been busy with school work and dealing with so many life problems at the moment... Anyways, I'm going to start updating and uploading my works via the app instead so I'm not sure how it'll look like online but I hope you'll still read my work anyhow._

 _So has L really tricked her into this or was Eleanor getting too mushy with him in the first place to realise just how cheeky he was with her? Ah, I love L. lol_


End file.
